


Drifting

by inlovewithnight



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Drifting

If she's told Karl once, she's told him six hundred times, she doesn't want the frakking morpha. The Raptor is jammed into the side of a snowdrift that's bigger than Galactica, which could slip and bury them without the slightest warning, and if she's going to die she wants to do it with her eyes open. Six hundred frakking times, at least, and they only crashed an hour ago.

At least, that's what the chronometer she can see from the floor says. Feels like a lot longer. Feels like she's been lying here for years.

Karl gets to his feet and moves back over to the ECO seat, checking the controls and their distress beacon. "They'll find us, Maggie," he says, all low and soothing like he's talking to a gods-damned child. If she could move her leg, she would kick him. "We don't have to worry about that. The only question is if it'll be Galactica or Pegasus's sweep that picks up the signal."

"Who cares?" she snaps, then grits her teeth against a fresh wave of pain. "What difference does it make?"

"Pegasus has the good drugs," he says, coming back to kneel at her side again. "Oh, wait, look!" He taps the cover of the medkit with exaggerated shock. "We have the good drugs too!"

"Frak off, Helo." She glares at him and drags herself up onto her elbows, bending her good knee; if he pushes it too far, she _will_ kick him. "I don't want the drugs."

"You're being stubborn for no good reason."

"I'm being stubborn because I don't want to die on this stupid motherfrakking planet and if I have to, it's not going to be without a fight."

His jaw tightens. "You're not going to die."

"Can I get that in writing?" She tilts her head back and glares at the ceiling. Frak. She hates this. She hates being helpless and she hates being in pain and she hates New godsdamned Caprica and its entire frakking northern quarter of snowfields just waiting for a Raptor to hit some turbulence and blow a secondary and emergency-crash-land into a drift.

"Maggie, come on, you have a broken leg."

"Really?" She looks at him again, curling her lip in disgust. "I hadn't noticed, Karl, thanks for the tip."

He sits back on his heels and shakes his head, his fingers still tapping out a pattern on the medkit. "You're being difficult, Lieutenant."

"You turn this into a rank thing and I swear to the Gods I will punch you in the face." Never mind that she could probably pound on Karl all damn day and not get any more reaction than a raised eyebrow. It's the principle of the thing.

They glare at each other for a minute until he looks away, and she closes her eyes and sets her teeth against the pain again, her fists clenching and her nails digging into her palms. _Ride it out, it comes in waves, just like having a baby, Mags, you saw that happen enough times back home, you should know how to breathe through it..._

She doesn't notice the sudden lesser pain until a split-second too late. Her eyes snap open just as Karl sits back again, syringe in hand and that frakking stubborn set to his jaw. At least he doesn't have the brass to look triumphant. She'd draw her godsdamned sidearm and _shoot_ him if he did.

"You son of a bitch," she says instead.

He shrugs and unfolds the thermal blanket over her legs. "My mama would've done the same, so I'm not going to take that personally."

"Oh, go to hell," she says, but the drug's already flooding her system and the words don't have any of the growl she intended. Her head wants very much to fall back against the floor and she lets it, glaring at the ceiling again for a few more breaths before her eyes very much want to close and she lets them, too.

He shakes his head and scoots up to sit with his back against the bulkhead and legs folded awkwardly so he can settle her head in his lap. "Just get some rest, Maggie. They'll come find us soon."

"Promise?" she asks, the slow-spreading warm fog in her brain making her not even care how soft and hopeful it sounds.

"Swear to the gods." His fingers comb through her ponytail absently, toying with the dark strands, and it feels nice. The warm fog is wrapping her up nice and safe, and she starts drifting through it, the pain in her leg receding like a bad memory and her fear of the cold and snow outside starting to seem like a very silly thing.

He starts talking, low and steady and quiet, telling her stories about growing up in a place like this, on Scorpia. It doesn't all make it through the fog, and what does get through doesn't all make sense, but there are things about stars and cousins and sleds and trees and dogs that sound nice. Sound homey and safe and good. He tells her stories and he pets her hair and before too long the fog thickens into black and she settles into it and falls asleep.  



End file.
